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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980196">Zombies, Cheerleaders, and Something Inbetween</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KieranHawke612/pseuds/KieranHawke612'>KieranHawke612</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Z-O-M-B-I-E-S (Disney Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bucky's Zombie Boyfriend, Fantastic Racism, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Supernatural Elements, Supernatural Illnesses, Transformation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 05:42:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22980196</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KieranHawke612/pseuds/KieranHawke612</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been almost a year since Seabrook's first loss, and Bucky is still coming to terms with the fact that zombies aren't the monsters he thought them to be. Allowing them to join the Cheer Squad seems to be a good idea, until he suddenly comes down with a strange illness mere weeks before the next Cheer Championships…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>(Past) Bucky Buchanan/Tracey, Bucky Buchanan &amp; Addison Wells, Bucky Buchanan (Z-O-M-B-I-E-S)/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One - Changes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Zeke Florez faceclaim - Noah Centineo<br/>Alice Buchanan faceclaim - Katey Sagal</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Things have changed a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> since the previous year. Zombies are finally being fully integrated into human society. Sure, they still have to stay on their side of the barrier, but the fence at its entrance has been permanently taken down, as well as the one at the front of the school. The mayor made a law against the segregation and discrimination of zombies in schools and local businesses— meaning Addison and Zed could finally have a real date, without hiding who they were. Of course, it didn't fix </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>: zombies are still harassed, the police are still unnecessarily hostile with them, and there are still 'rogue zombie’ drills, but they're making progress.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This progress, however, meant that zombies were now allowed on the cheer squad. Now, maybe a year ago Bucky would see this as a problem, but, after seeing their performance at last year's championships, he had to admit that some of them have some serious talent. However, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> mean that a lot of changes have to be made. No more fire-related props, sudden loud noises, or bright flashes of light were allowed anymore. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not to mention the fact that they had no prior training and were basically a ticking time bomb, inviting chaos at every corner.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cheer tryouts began slow, everyone unsure of their footing— especially Bucky. Of course, it's hard to suddenly have to teach a bunch of newcomers when you're used to teaching people with years of experience. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that many of the zombies had a natural talent for the sport due to their enhanced stamina, agility, and flexibility; and those that signed up were dedicated and eager to learn.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One had even managed to impress him on the first day by executing a near-perfect full layout twist from the practice platform— not something one would expect from someone with little to no prior experience. And thus began his descent into madness.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wh— uh, h-how—” Bucky stuttered, shaking himself out of his stupor. “How did you do that? I mean, without the proper training its…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I've been practicing for years! This is just my first time using the proper equipment.” The zombie grinned up at him from his slightly crouched position, forest green hair falling slightly into his face as he straightened back out. “I'm Zeke— uh, Florez. Zeke Florez. You're Bucky, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At his full height he was just about as tall as Bucky, hair falling just above his dark brown eyes. He held a hand towards the cheer captain excitedly, a broad grin on his lips. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I'm a huge fan of yours! You're actually the reason I'm here. I was afraid that I would never make the team, but then… then I saw you— Seabrook's first male cheer captain… and then I thought if you could do it, then maybe there was hope for someone like me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh… uh, thanks.” He tentatively took the offered hand, still wary of the supernatural race. Despite his internal fear, his face flushed at the compliment. He couldn't help his knowing smirk and preening attitude, though part of him wondered how his actions last year had affected those claims.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He started seeing the zombies around more often after that— at lunch, in class, during cheer practice— it was getting hard to avoid these days. That didn't bother him so much anymore, but that flutter in his heart whenever he saw Zeke: </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bothered him. He didn't have time for love anymore— it was his last year of high school, and he didn't want to be remembered as the guy that made Seabrook lose a cheer championship for the first time in over 70 years! That meant he had to be wholly and completely dedicated to his art.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn</span>
  </em>
  <span> that boy was hard to ignore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn't as much of a show-off as Bucky— he was actually rather humble, despite obviously being proud of his cheering. He was the type to blush and dismiss any compliments, stressing how it had all been due to hard work and not skill. Despite this, he still had a large presence. His laughter could fill an entire room, and he was always imposingly positive. He kind of resembled Addison in that way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Despite his best efforts, the universe seemed determined to push them together— literally.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was during cheer practice, just four weeks before the championships. Zeke had a position at the top of the pyramid, and Bucky was standing right in front of it, trying to correct their stance. Unfortunately, that caused the zombie to lose his balance and come toppling down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Take a wild guess where he landed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky was </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrified</span>
  </em>
  <span>— he was pinned to the ground by a zombie, mere inches from his face, with absolutely no idea whether his Z-band was functioning or not. He grabbed Zeke's wrist in a panicked haze, trying to discern whether it was working or not purely by touch. All he felt was a strong electric jolt coursing through his body from the second he touched it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jesus!” Zeke jumped off of Bucky like he'd burned him with the exclamation, pulling the electric current away from his hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Are you ok?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, just— is your Z-band working?” His eyes darted to the object in fear, and he hastily crawled away when he noticed it was broken.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah, the hood just fell off again.” Zeke held his hands up placatingly once he repaired it, trying to calm the cheer captain down. “It happens all the time, ok? Nothing to worry about.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“B-but it shocked me!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That's what it's supposed to do. It uses electrical currents to keep us… well, human, for lack of a better word. The lid just prevents it from going the wrong way. It's been broken for a while, but it still works and we can't afford a new one. I promise, I'm ok.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky nodded after a moment's hesitation, finally allowing the zombie to help him up. He felt a bit guilty at his reaction, but he just couldn't forget the look of pure, primal </span>
  <em>
    <span>rage</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he had seen on Zed. He didn't think he could handle seeing it again… Cheer practice was cut short that day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't see Zeke around much anymore, which was fine by him. He needed to focus.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Focusing is hard when you're head's in a toilet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It had been just under a week since the incident, and for the past few days he had felt like absolute shit— he'd been losing his temper far more often, and no matter what he tried he couldn't get rid of this sick feeling in his stomach— and now here he was. Throwing up in a high school bathroom during fourth period. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, this is a new low</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello? Is everything ok?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, go away.” he groaned pathetically, immediately gagging again. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>God, why did it have to be him?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What does that mean?”  Zeke asked from above him, standing on the toilet in the next stall and leaning over the divider.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shit, had he said that aloud?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed dramatically into the toilet bowl, trying to think of a reasonable response.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because… you're on the cheer squad, and that means I'll have to face you later, look you in the eyes, and pretend you didn't just see me in the most pathetic position imaginable…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>And you're cute and sweet and honestly this is the worst moment of my life.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Zeke must have noticed that something was off, as his voice was suddenly flooded with worry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How long have you been ill…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It doesn't matter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bucky</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It— ugh, just a couple days, I'll be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you seen a doctor?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not! I don't have the time! Between school, cheer, community service for what happened last year, and trying to get into a good college, I barely even have time to shower anymore! How am I gonna see a doctor in my five seconds of spare time?!” The illness must've really been getting to him, because all of a sudden he started crying in front of Zeke, head still in a toilet. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>sobbing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, mind you, just a couple tears slipping down his face.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The zombie must have climbed over the divider, because all of a sudden there was an arm around Bucky's shoulders and a hand rubbing his upper arm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey it's ok! I promise it'll be our secret. Now, how long have you been throwing up?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do we </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to talk about it? It's embarrassing…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, I need to know how much food you've gotten in your system. Have you been able to keep anything down?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh… I dunno, I had a salad the other day. I don't think I threw up after that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How long ago was that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yesterday…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And that was the last thing you actually ate?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pretty much.” He sighed, shrugging the zombie's hands off. “But it's fine. I'll be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No! Nonononono, I'm not letting you go to practice on an empty stomach!” He rummaged around in his bag, pulling out a water bottle and what looked like a granola bar. “Here, my mom gave me these for later, but I think you need them more. Think you can keep it down?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don't know… is it edible?” He cringed, scrutinizing the snack bar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it's just a granola bar we picked up at the grocery store. I wouldn't offer it if I thought it wasn't safe for humans.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky gingerly took the offer, turning away from the toilet and leaning against the wall as Zeke leaned over to get rid of the vomit. He nibbled at the snack slowly, trying to avoid throwing up again. Thankfully he was able to eat the whole thing before his class ended, and he finished the water by the time practice rolled around.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, neither of those things prevented him from passing out in the middle of their last set.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he came to he was in the school nurse's office, Zeke pacing around the small room just a few feet away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bucky</span>
  </em>
  <span>! You passed out during practice, I-I didn't know what to do, so I brought you to the nurse. You're excused from your community service this evening, and the ‘Aceys finished up practice for you. But it seems… pretty serious. She was talking about hospitals, and specialists, and…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“H-have they called my parents?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, they're on their way to pick you up.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky groaned, covering his face with his hands in exasperation. “Mom's gonna kill me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because she's gonna get mad that I got sick and didn't tell them, and because of that I got worse, and that caused me to miss practice, and on top of that my closest friend at the moment is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>zombie</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He hastily turned to rectify the situation. “Not that it's a bad thing! I just don't think </span>
  <em>
    <span>they'll </span>
  </em>
  <span>think it's not a bad thing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I get it. I'll leave if you want.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No! I-I mean, no. I don't want to be alone… but my parents— they aren't as accepting as Addy's. They won't like you…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But maybe once they get to know me—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They won't! They don't even like </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He covered his mouth, afraid that anyone might hear or see through his overconfident and 'perfect’ façade. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, it's alright. I know the sickness and the lack of food is getting to you. Besides, I don't mind seeing the real Bucky for once. It's kind of nice to know you're actually human under all that narcissism.” Zeke smiled lightheartedly as he took a seat on the rickety little medical bed, placing his hand on top of Bucky's. It was much warmer than he expected.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, but I hardly think anyone else would agree…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno. Sometimes it's nice to know that no one's perfect.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Buchanan?” The nurse poked her head into the room. “Your mother is here to get you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sebastian Michael Buchanan! What did you do?!” A brunette, middle-aged woman in a business suit stormed into the room, and Bucky was quick to pull his hand away as she gaped at the zombie sitting beside him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice to see you too, Mom.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The woman rushed over and pulled the cheer captain away from Zeke, leaving him alone on the bed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing with—” She paused,  looking disdainfully at the zombie before lowering her voice. “One of </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>? That's probably the reason you're sick in the first place!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky sighed, glancing sadly towards Zeke with an expression that read ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I told you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Leave him alone, Mom. He didn't do anything wrong!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn't do anything wrong?! Don't you remember the one that almost bit your face off?!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And then they managed to pin the blame on </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>! You should know better than to hang around with these— these mindless animals!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Without another word, Bucky was dragged out of the room and taken back home, mouthing a 'sorry’ as he was pulled through the doorway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bucky, are you feeling ok?” Stacey pulled him from a daze, not having slept much the night before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mn, huh…?” Bucky looked up from his tray, barely-eaten food strewn about it, to glance dazedly between the 'Aceys. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She asked if you were ok.” Tracey repeated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously, you're super pale.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You look like you died.” Lacey added.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gee thanks…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bucky?” He whipped around, heart leaping into his throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Zeke! Oh my God, I am so sorry about what happened yesterday, I-I wanted to say something but with my mom it's just—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Bucky, it's ok, I don't care about that! You— you look awful, have you been to a doctor yet?” Bucky sighed listlessly, scooching aside to make a space for Zeke beside him. At the moment, he was far too tired to care what anyone thought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but apparently I need to see a specialist. Mom's going to take me after school today, so the 'Aceys are gonna have to run practice tonight. For now I just have to eat a vegetarian diet, and I haven't thrown up yet so…” He trailed off with a shrug. “I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> sorry about yesterday. But hey, at least now you know where I get it from.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You're nothing like her! At least </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> were willing to give us a chance.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, after you carried me to the nurse and I was barely conscious… but last year—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Last year was different. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No one</span>
  </em>
  <span> liked us last year, until Zed started winning.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That doesn't make what I did less horrible.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but you at least admitted to it, and you made up for it. That's far more than anyone like her would ever do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky made a strained noise in his throat, lying his head on the table pathetically. “Whatever.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s actually almost finished with his community service! He’s done the most out of all of us.” Tracey interjected, smiling at the odd pair knowingly. Bucky lifted his head to scowl at the three with an expression that clearly said </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep your whore mouths shut</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, 'cuz I had to. I needed to finish before the Cheer Championships, so I can focus.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And so you can </span>
  <em>
    <span>rest</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Don't forget that you're sick, Buck. You need to take care of yourself.” Zeke pleaded, rubbing calming circles into his back. He didn't quite understand why the 'Aceys were looking at them like they knew something, but he was far too preoccupied with Bucky to worry about that at the moment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, ok, ok!” Bucky waved him off, resuming his lunch to placate the zombie. “There, happy?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, actually.” Zeke smirked playfully, challenging Bucky's dismissive attitude. Hopefully he would take his concern to heart. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At least he would be seeing a professional that evening.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Mr. Buchanan, we're going to start with a few questions, ok?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Bucky nodded, trying to swallow the knot in his throat. He hated hospitals. He hated that hospitals were covered in illness and grief and </span>
  <em>
    <span>death</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hospitals meant imperfections, and imperfections are failures in the eyes of Seabrook.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, less than a week? Three or four days, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And your nausea always occurred after you ate meat, correct?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess…” He shrugged, unsure of where this was leading. Had he developed an allergy to </span>
  <em>
    <span>meat</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Was that even possible?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you experienced any unusual urges or cravings?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really. I have been more hungry than usual but I'm pretty sure that's just from the vomiting.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And have you or any of your family members been infected by a feral zombie?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My grandfather, but that was forever ago—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Excuse me, but what does this have to do with my son?” His mother suddenly interjected, positioning herself between Bucky and the doctor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ma'am, please, I'll explain in a minute. Now, do you know if he was bitten before or after your parents were born?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Before. About when the whole zombie apocalypse thing started, just a few years before the barrier was built.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And did he show any signs of infection?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not for a long time, like around when I was born.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok, one last question, and then we'll have to run a blood test, ok? Have you had any zombie related incidents in the past week or so?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, I was—” he glanced at his mother, uncertain that he wanted her to hear this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was shocked by a Z-band, a week or so ago. But I don't understand how that could be connected to any of this!” He rushed through the last sentence, cutting his mother off before she could protest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, well, we've seen incidents like this before: a patient is infected, either by a bite or by someone that was bitten. I suppose it's possible the contagion was passed down genetically and remained dormant until your contact with the Z-band jump-started it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what does that mean?” His mother tapped her foot impatiently.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like I said, we'll need to run a blood test to confirm it, but… we believe your son may be turning into a zombie.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two - Loss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bucky struggles with the difficult changes brought on by the start of his new life as a Zombie, with some help from his friends.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Get away from me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those were the last words he heard from his mother's mouth. He didn't even get to say goodbye to his dad: he was just thrown out. Like garbage, into the street.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was a common phrase, along with '</span>
  <em>
    <span>you're a monster</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ and '</span>
  <em>
    <span>you aren't my son anymore.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow he wasn't surprised at her eagerness to get rid of him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He picked himself up and began walking down the street he had spent his childhood on, searching for shelter for the night. At least he had somewhere to go. There were at least three people that should be happy to help. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Should</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blood test had come back positive, which meant a lot of things had to change. He could no longer eat any meat cooked further than </span>
  <em>
    <span>rare</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he had to trade his watch for a Z-band, and, according to his mother, he had to move to the other side of the barrier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No friends. No family. Nothing. Just zombies. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Monsters.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His mother's voice whispers.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Like you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hesitated a moment on the doorstep. What if no one accepted him anymore? Because of something he couldn't even control… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knocked nervously, fidgeting with the strange device on his wrist as he waited for someone to answer the door. It wasn't pleasant, having a heavy, metal band shocking your wrist at all times. Did the zombies really live like this?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tracey!” Bucky flinched as the door swung open, quickly hiding his hands behind his back. “Do you think I could… stay here, for the night?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why? What happened?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slowly withdrew his hands, shakily showing him the Z-band on his wrist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I uh— I didn't even know this was possible, but…” his eyes drifted to the ground, not focusing on anything. “The doctor says I should be a full zombie by the end of the week.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And your parents kicked you out for it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My mom did. Dad was at work, so he didn't have much of a say in it.” His eyes flicked back to his friend's face, trying to figure out what he was thinking. “So, can I stay here? Just ‘til I find a new place?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, of course! I'll go tell my parents, why don't you head up to my room?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky felt as if he could cry in relief, pulling his friend into a grateful hug. “Thank you, I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He paused, realizing his mistake a second too late, as Tracey's body went stiff in a moment of panic. He pushed himself away just as quick as he realized why.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm sorry! I shouldn't have— you probably thought— I'm sorry…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it's ok. Just come inside, I'll… I'll be right back.” Tracey shuffled into the kitchen awkwardly, clearly still uncomfortable with the situation as Bucky stepped inside, closing the door behind him and kicking his shoes off on the mat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm such an idiot.” he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair and shambled up the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He fell into Tracey's bed as the reality of the situation began to hit him. He was homeless. He was kicked out of his home— his </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span>— because of something he couldn't control. Something he didn't even understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lost everything due to his parents’ prejudice. He went from having everything to having nothing in the span of one hour. How fucked up is that?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Bucky? What— what can you eat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, pretty much anything that isn't overly-processed or cooked more than rare.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So… vegetables and stuff?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky sighed sadly. Another thing he would have to give up: some of his favorite foods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pretty much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright… Are you gonna be ok?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky nodded noncommittally. He would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> have an emotional breakdown in front of his best friend. He needed to keep </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his dignity intact.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm fine. I just… I just need some rest. I'll be down for dinner.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok, just… just take care of yourself, ok?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I get it, Trace. Can I be alone now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tracey rolled his eyes and shut the door. He seemed to feel more confident than before, assured that Bucky was still himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky, on the other hand, was about to lose his mind. Everything was going to change, and at the worst possible time for him. He needed to distract himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat up, looking around the room he remembered sharing many times during his youth. He had his first kiss on this bed, spilled a soda on that rug and cried when he couldn't get it out. He lost his first boyfriend in this room…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He begun walking around the room, looking at the pictures and posters. There were pictures of them at cheer practice, hanging out after school, and plenty of them as kids: at birthday parties, summer camp, having sleepovers…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Would he be able to do that anymore? He knew there was a curfew for zombies, but did they have to be on the other side of the barrier by then? How would small fires like birthday candles affect them? Would fire even affect him the same as normal zombies?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything was new, and unknown. The doctor said there were cases like this before, but those were all forever ago. Most of them occurred towards the beginning of the outbreak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky! Dinner!” The familiar voice of Tracey's dad called up the stairs, drawing him from his thoughts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Coming!” Bucky yelled back, taking one last look at the room before walking back down the stairs, smiling and waving politely at the family before taking a seat at the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Thanks for, uh, letting me stay here. Despite the…” He gestured towards his Z-band unenthusiastically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't worry about it! You know we'll always be here to help.” Mrs. Lavoie replied sweetly. “I can't believe your mother would be so cruel as to kick you out over this…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, you know how much she hates zombies…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But it's not like you're </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> a zombie. You're just sick.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky looked up from his plate, staring at them quizzically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, no, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>yet</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you weren't born a zombie. I'm sure you'll get better soon, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it's not like that. I'm not sick, it's just… it's just something I have to live with now. There is no 'getting better' from this!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky, please…” Tracey grabbed his hand, rubbing circles into the back of it with his thumb. Bucky snatched his hand away angrily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did you tell them? What, that I was just '</span>
  <em>
    <span>sick</span>
  </em>
  <span>?’ That this was just some— some </span>
  <em>
    <span>phase </span>
  </em>
  <span>I'm going through? As if I had any choice in the matter?” He pulled his hand away, standing up and beginning to pace the room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. Not here, not now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm sorry, I didn't know how they would react if—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you told them the truth? That I'm turning into a monster?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky, you're not turning into a monster.” Tracey stood slowly, holding his hands up placatingly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then why are you afraid of me? Why are you acting like we haven't been best friends for the past twelve years?!” The band on his wrist suddenly spiked in intensity, reacting to his heightened pulse like a shock collar. He flinched, grabbing his wrist in pain, cursing at the sudden shock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> this… I hate this </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> on my wrist, I hate that my life is going down the drain, I hate that my own </span>
  <em>
    <span>mother</span>
  </em>
  <span> disowned me for something I had no choice in, something I didn't even know was </span>
  <em>
    <span>possible</span>
  </em>
  <span> until this afternoon, I—” he covered sadness with anger, ashamed at what he was, and how he felt. “I'm sorry, I just… I just want to go home… I want my life back but there's nothing that can fix this. There's nothing I can do…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook the thoughts from his head, looking back up at them shamefully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just want to be normal, I…" He paused at the fearful, confused, and upset looks on their faces, taking a shaky breath in an attempt to calm himself. "I'm sorry. I'm gonna eat in Tracey's room…" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He picked up his plate, which held some kind of vegetarian pasta, and stumbled back up the stairs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sat on the floor to avoid getting anything on the bed and picked at his food disdainfully. He really didn't want to live like this for the rest of his life: never able to eat steak or chicken without gagging at the taste and texture of raw meat in his mouth, everyone treating him like a ticking time bomb… like he'd treated Zeke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed, pulling his phone out of his varsity jacket. No service. His mother must have cut him from the plan. He distantly wondered what she'd told the phone company as he looked through his old photos. He looked so happy…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe one day he would feel that way again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He put the phone away and stared down at the plate. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>starving</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he really didn't think he could stomach much at the moment. He thought about how Zeke had acted at lunch that afternoon, and his concern for the human's health. He decided to eat it anyways, if not for himself then for the boy that had been kind enough to care for him, even after the way he'd treated him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He left the plate on the desk by the door, figuring Tracey could take care of it later. He didn't have the energy to face them again tonight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He crawled into the bed in his street clothes, not wanting to take any of Tracey's without asking, and curled up under the covers. At least it was Friday, so he wouldn't have to deal with school for a few days.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Bucky?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mnhh…” he rolled over, blinking at his friend blearily. Why was he at Tracey's house again?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm sorry about last night, but I talked to my parents, and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, right. How'd that go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, I don't know. I think they're ok with it, but they're kinda…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Scared.” He sighed, rolling back into the pillow. It was way too early for that. “I'm sorry too, it's just— it's a lot, y'know? All of a sudden being thrust into a completely different life and all that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, we still have community service.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Five more minutes…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get up, asshat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bite me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you weren't into that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky hit him with his pillow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a sense of normalcy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That sense of normalcy faded once he got out of bed and realized he had no clothes to change into.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Trace? You got any clothes I can borrow ‘til I can get my stuff back?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As if you haven't 'borrowed’ my clothes before.” He scoffed, shaking his head playfully. “Yeah, just grab some from my closet. You better return them this time, though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No promises!” Bucky jumped off the bed, sifting through a sea of pastel pink and baby blue. He didn't feel like wearing either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you ever get kinda sick of wearing the same colors all the time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not really. Do you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes. It gets kinda boring.” He grabbed a pink polo shirt and blue slacks. Just different enough to satisfy him, without standing out too much from the norm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stepped into the bathroom to take a shower, shutting the door behind him and leaning towards the mirror. He already </span>
  <em>
    <span>looked</span>
  </em>
  <span> like a zombie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He ran a hand over his pale face and sunken eyes, taking in the light pinkish-purple rings forming around them, and the barely visible green sheen to his hair. It wasn't nearly as intense as a normal zombie's: he was still pretty tan, and the circles around his eyes weren't </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>dark. The strands of green in his hair were even more of a dark pine green, almost black, as opposed to the brighter forest green most zombies had, and didn't even show up except in direct light.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It still didn't look quite right to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For their community service that day they had to clean up the graffiti on the sides of the barrier, so at least Bucky was pretty sure no one from school would see him. If anyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> see him they would hopefully assume he was a brightly-dressed zombie, or a human with stained hair from a football game or something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hopefully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The 'Aceys, however, would know exactly who he was. Lacey was the first to say anything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god! What did you do?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Lacey. As blunt as ever.” Bucky rolled his eyes, stepping out of the car: he didn't want to take the van, as that would be far too noticeable. “I didn't do anything, trust me. If I had any choice in the matter I would be back to normal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened then?” Stacey asked, staring at him with thinly-veiled disapproval. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Disgust</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It's… a long story. I'd rather not talk about it right now. All you need to know is that it's not contagious.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh… well it's not… </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad.” Lacey squinted and tilted her head at him, clearly lying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can we please just start working so I can leave before anyone else sees me like this?” Bucky muttered, fiddling with his Z-band self-consciously and glancing at the probation officers warily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we brought the paint remover.” Stacey pulled a can of clear fluid and a bunch of rags out of the trunk of her car, setting them on the ground near the wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Removing the anti-zombie graffiti was much harder this time, as every word just reminded him of his mother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No zombies.</span>
  <em>
    <span> You're not welcome here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Go home.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Get away from me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You're not human.</span>
  <em>
    <span> You're not my son.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But with every letter he erased he felt a weight fall off his shoulders. With every letter he erased he reminded himself that she was no longer his mother, that she was nowhere near deserving of the title of mother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Stacey, Lacey, Tracey!” Bucky froze at the voice. Zeke. Why was it always </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zeke</span>
  </em>
  <span>? “Have you heard from Bucky? I've been worried about him, is he gonna be ok?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky could feel their eyes boring into his back, and turned to face them with an exasperated sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I'm not gonna </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, you're hair…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know, it's—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It looks good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and you're totally not saying that because your hair's green, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean it, green's a good color on you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! Besides, I like yours better. It looks more…” he shrugged, smiling that cute, lopsided smile. “Natural, I guess. It's nice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, thanks. I-I should get back to work. I just have a couple more hours on my sentence, so.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can help, if you want. I hate seeing this stuff all the time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I dunno… it's not really up to us.” Bucky muttered, turning to the probation officer, who shrugged and nodded at Zeke. He grinned and waved a thumbs up at them before grabbing a rag and working beside Bucky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y'know, he's actually looking for a place to stay—” Bucky shoved his elbow into Tracey's stomach, fixing him with a glare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, really? Do you have to move to the other side of the barrier?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only because my parents kicked me out. If they hadn't I could've continued to live with them, but…" He shook his head, trying to forget about the incident. "I-it's ok though, I'm staying with Tracey for the time being.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, we have a spare room at my place, and I'm sure my parents will let you stay with us!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, as long as they don't remember the fact I deactivated three Z-bands and put like a hundred lives at stake last year.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> like you though. Trust me, it'll be fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky glanced at him with a doubtful expression, unsure if he should believe him or not. Could anyone really forgive a person's behavior because someone else has? Has Zeke even really forgiven him, or was he just pretending to to get on the cheer squad?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I dunno… maybe I should talk to them first? And I need to talk to Addy about getting my stuff back…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't worry about it, we can just go to Zed's place! Either she's there, we can use his phone to call her, or we can ask Mr. N where they are.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He always gives Zoey cheer lessons on Sundays, so you could just lend him stuff for the night and talk to Addison tomorrow!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?! Trace—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? I thought you would want to get your own place as soon as possible!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But moving in with them isn't getting my own place!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok, but the law states that zombies have to live on their side of the barrier: at the end of the week, that includes you. You don't want to break the law, do you?” Stacey smirked, shooting Tracey a wink </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Guys, I know what you're trying to do, and it needs to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We're just trying to help!” Lacey added cheerfully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky, it's fine, really! We have plenty of room, I can lend you some clothes; and besides, wouldn't it just be easier if you had actual zombies helping you through the transition?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—” He sputtered, trying to think of a way out of the situation. Unfortunately, he just couldn't say no to that stupid, beautiful face. “Alright…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cool! We can stop at the store and grab you some toiletries, I gotta go get some groceries for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Má-ze</span>
  </em>
  <span> anyways.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can bring you your clothes from yesterday and your jacket!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok, ok, I get it. You all want to help me move in, but I still haven't actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>met</span>
  </em>
  <span> the people that own the place. We should do that first!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well my mom's going to be mad if I dont get her groceries first, and you'll need the toiletries anyways, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, ok, but can we just focus on the work, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you say, Buck."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of their community service hours were spent removing the graffiti between polite conversations and stupid jokes, including the occasional jeering from the 'Aceys about his crush, which Zeke somehow remained oblivious to. Or at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretended</span>
  </em>
  <span> to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The 'Aceys eventually went their separate ways, leaving Bucky and Zeke to walk to the store by themselves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, how did practice go yesterday? I hope we didn't get too far behind, 'cause on Monday I'll have to waste time explaining why my hair is green, and how a human turning into a zombie is still possible, and if they're behind then that's </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> stress I'll have to deal with and—” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I really need this win. I've already lost so much…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I understand. Being a zombie from birth is one thing, but turning into one when you spent your whole life as a human? It must be awful…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky nodded solemnly, sticking his hands in his pockets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not to mention my own mother kicking me out for it… God, what a bitch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zeke regarded him with sorrow, studying the details of his face. His sad eyes and false smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you don't really think that, do you? I mean, this only happened yesterday, no one can get over something that easily. It's ok if you don't want to talk about it, but please don't lie to me anymore. I want you to trust me.” He stopped, reaching over to grab Bucky by the shoulder, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I've already seen so much more than the shallow, strict cheer captain you pretend to be. You don't have to be that way with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe later, ok? Just— not here.” He rubbed at his eye and the tear trying to form, straightening his back and smiling at Zeke. “I promise we'll talk about it later though. I just… don't really wanna have another public therapy session.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That goaded a laugh out of the zombie (he couldn't really call him that anymore, could he?) and Bucky spent every second of that precious moment studying his expression. A bright, wide smile, one hand on his shoulder and another at his face attempting to muffle the sound, dark eyes crinkling into slits, and dark yet vibrant green hair falling into his face. He would have to remember that look the next time he was feeling sad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See? Who could've known that Bucky Buchanan had a sense of humor!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up! Don't be rude.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm so sorry! Please don't cut me from the squad!” He pleaded sarcastically, swooning for dramatic effect as they walked through the doors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn't dream of it.” Bucky admitted, running a hand along his neck and looking away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... Really?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For sure! You're an honorary 'Acey at this point. It's an honor that precious few receive.” He turned back to the zombie with a playful grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C'mon, let’s get your stuff, you dork.” Zeke smiled, shaking his head and leading Bucky through the aisles, occasionally tossing things into the basket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky was tense, constantly feeling eyes on his back, hearing whispers from nearby strangers. Part of him worried he might be recognized, but another part worried that he wouldn't. People still hated zombies: that much was obvious from the way his mom treated him. So how would they react to him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't realize he had been slowing down until he felt a hand wrap around his own, pulling him along gently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't worry about them, Bucky. Let's just get what we need and go home, ok?” Zeke smiled, squeezing his hand reassuringly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky nodded numbly, glancing around in paranoia. What were they saying? Why?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok, you gotta pick out your toothpaste and stuff. Just try not to get anything too expensive, I've only got twenty dollars left from this week.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only twenty?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well yeah, I gotta help </span>
  <em>
    <span>Má-ze</span>
  </em>
  <span> pay the bills sometimes. Being a zombie waitress in a Seabrook restaurant only gets you so much. Hell, if it wasn't for your cousin we'd probably go broke!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geez… I didn't even think about that. Do you think I'll be able to get a job soon?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, the café I work at is looking for a new barista. Maybe you can work there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…” Bucky sighed, grabbing a tube of toothpaste before backtracking to check the price and reaching for a cheaper one. “I probably won't be much help either way, and I doubt I could get my parents to loan me any cash.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't worry about it, we've been doing ok so far. It just depends on the time of year and the customers she gets. I can usually help out enough to keep us going till summer, and Dad always picks up extra shifts to help out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, mine too— though I'm pretty sure it isn't about the money. I think he just prefers to be at work instead of with us… I really do wish I could do more to help. I feel like I need to repay you for all this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just being able to know you is payment enough! Like I said, you're what inspired me to pursue cheerleading. I'm more than happy to help.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky shook his head, smiling. “Doesn't make me feel less intrusive.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you really feel the need to pay me back, just help me pick up groceries from time to time, and maybe help out around the house sometimes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky was the one to lace their hands together that time, replying to Zeke's confused glance with a cheeky grin, leading him to the checkout line. He felt much safer with their hands intertwined.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They stood there for about three minutes before they were cut off by a vaguely familiar stranger with no sense of common decency.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, uh, pretty sure we were in line first.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky, please—” Zeke whispered, pulling him away from the stranger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I must not have seen you there.” The man deadpanned, making no effort to move out of their way.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You looked straight at me as you walked over here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don't see why it matters, I only have three things.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because it's rude!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky, your temper—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well maybe if you'd stayed on your side of the barrier like you're supposed to—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky cut him off with a shout of pain as his Z-band's intensity spiked again, causing his knees to buckle at the sudden shock. Luckily, Zeke was able to keep him upright until he could steady himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>! I hate this thing…” Bucky muttered, rubbing his wrist as Zeke protectively stood between him and the man, still holding the cheerleader upright.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, just try to stay calm, ok?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do you deal with this? It </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts</span>
  </em>
  <span>…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You just… get used to it I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sighed, staring at the strange device on his arm for a moment before glancing at Zeke sadly and shooting the man a final glare. It was then that he realized where he recognized him from.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait a sec… isn't that the guy that was booing us at the Championships last year?” he whispered, glancing between the man and Zeke's concerned expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky, let it go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! He yelled at Zoey— he yelled at a little kid just because she was a zombie!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to get shocked again?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If it means telling off an asshole like that—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could get arrested! Do you even know what Zombie Containment is like?!” Zeke's voice was laced with pain, still speaking in hushed whispers and glancing at the bystanders warily. “Please. I don't want that for you. Just let it go this time…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine…" He growled, watching the stranger leave and catching his steely glare with one of his own before stepping up to the checkout. "You're gonna have to teach me how to handle that kinda stuff though."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm not sure I can, you kinda just… get used to it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi, did you find everything ok?” The cashier smiled innocently, pretending she didn't just overhear everything.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, fine, thanks.” Zeke returned with an equally fake grin, interlacing his hand with Bucky's again in an effort to calm him down. His hands were still shaking from the shock.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That encounter was the beginning of a very important revelation: zombies in Seabrook were either invisible, or cannon fodder.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3 - Gain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bucky moves into his new home and finally meets Zeke's family, while struggling to fully come to terms with his new life.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Rozita Florez faceclaim - Marisol Nichols<br/>Ezra Florez faceclaim - Dan Payne</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The walk back to Zeke's house was quiet. Just the two walking in awkward yet companionable silence as the sun sank into the Earth. The sky was orange by the time they reached the barrier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We gotta get home quick. They don't like us out after sunset.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>‘They</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Zombie Patrol officers. It's why we have a curfew. They don't trust us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The officers stopped them at the gate, demanding to see their IDs before letting them in. Bucky recognized one of them as Gus, a close family friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, you know me by now! I gotta get home before curfew or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Máz—</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mom's gonna kill me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah yeah, we know you, it's your friend we don't recognize. We just need to make sure you're not trying to smuggle any humans in past curfew. I'm sure you remember the incident at the power plant last year.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, where you overreacted and almost tased a teenage girl?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tased</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” He shook his head: that's not important right now. “Look, Gus, you know me! I wouldn't be going into Zombietown if I didn't have to, and I certainly wouldn't go as far as to make myself look like a zombie. Can you just let us in, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What's your name? Why are you trying to cross the border?” The unfamiliar officer interrogated him as Gus stood by, eyeing the other man cautiously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sebastian Buchanan, I go by Bucky. Look, I'm not human, but I'm not really a zombie either… but I have a Z-band, so I guess that makes me a zombie to some degree, right?” He sighed, handing the man his driver's license.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" The officer snarled, the dry tone in Bucky's voice clearly setting him off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I've been human almost my whole life but an accident including a Z-band activated some dormant zombie genes in my blood. I'd give you a doctor's note but my mom—” He cringed at the word. “My </span>
  <em>
    <span>mother</span>
  </em>
  <span> has it. Can I go now? Or do you need my whole life's story?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, watch your tone!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gus stepped in, placing himself between the other man and Bucky, holding an arm out to stop him from doing anything stupid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> if I'm a little on edge! I've just been kicked out of my own house and treated like a monster for something I didn't even know was possible until </span>
  <em>
    <span>yesterday</span>
  </em>
  <span>! My entire life has been ruined within the course of one week and there's nothing I can do about it, I was verbally assaulted when I was just trying to buy some </span>
  <em>
    <span>toothpaste</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and now I can't even go to my new, shitty ass home because of some asshole in a uniform, that, before any of this </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullshit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, wouldn't even bat an eye at me!” The teen ground his teeth, trying to ignore the pain in his wrist that was bringing tears to his eyes as the officer put a hand to his weapon, clearly on edge with Bucky's aggression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Derek, please!” Gus turned around, putting himself completely between the two opposing forces. “I know this kid, he's not lying.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it's ok Gus, let him try! This stupid thing on my wrist has been tazing me all day for having so much as a slight panic attack so I'm sure it can't get much worse than that!!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright! Just go.” The aggressive man huffed as Gus put a hand on Bucky's shoulder, handing him back his ID.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just get your ID updated as soon as possible, ‘kay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever.” Bucky scoffed, snatching the card and pushing past the men angrily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Geez, I didn't know you could be so… stubborn.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I've had a long week.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair wearily. “I just wanna lie down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You will soon: my house is just that way.” He tilted his head, leading Bucky through the dingy streets, illuminated by the last rays of the sun and the string lights hanging everywhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For all the times he had been down these streets: for cheer initiations, family business, or some other purpose, he'd never really </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> them. He never stopped and looked at it, instead choosing to stare at the zombies in disgust or horror. Actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>being</span>
  </em>
  <span> there, staring up at the lights and decorations made from garbage— not the disgusting kind thrown in the trash, but the kind that's simply discarded, or left behind— the rundown shacks had a strange beauty about them he'd never seen before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wow…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he breathed in sheer awe at the wonders he'd missed in the past 18 years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come on, we gotta get home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned back to Zeke, mesmerized by the way the lights seemed to twinkle in his eyes, making them look brighter and more human, the way the sun caught his hair and made it look a light greenish brown, while the cooler decorative lights amplified the green in his hair. The combination of hues made him look ethereal; heavenly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, uh, sorry. I've just… I've never seen it like this before. It's beautiful.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>You're beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it is, but we'll see it again another time, ok? I need to get home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, it's just… what if they don't like me? Where else would I go?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky. They're </span>
  <em>
    <span>going</span>
  </em>
  <span> to like you.” Zeke took his hand, pulling him to the doorstep of an old brick building, decorated with broken christmas lights and an assortment of discarded items painted in a variety of colors— mostly pink and green, no doubt by Zeke's request— and mostly made from things the cheerleaders had discarded over the years: old pompoms, broken batons, and megaphones with the paint worn off. Bucky couldn't help but think of that old saying about trash and treasure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zeke opened the door, pulling his attention away from the yard, and shouting into the house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Má-ze</span>
  </em>
  <span>! I'm home!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ezequiel James Florez!” The older woman seemed to appear out of nowhere, pulling Zeke into a hug before smacking him gently and scolding him. “Where have you been?! I've been worried sick about you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I just ran into a friend and…” He turned to Bucky with a shrug. “I guess I lost track of time?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky stood by the door, waving at the woman awkwardly. She was about 9 inches shorter than the boys, with the same dark brown eyes as her son, and her hair was long and dark green, framing her slender face nicely; he could certainly see where Zeke got his looks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi, I'm—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bucky, right? I've seen plenty of you in Seabrook, not to mention Zeke never shuts up about you.” She walked towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder and observing him sadly. “You poor thing… How did this happen to you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh… it's a medical thing. My grandfather was bit a long time ago, apparently I was born with zombie genes, but they didn't do anything to me until I had an accident with a Z-band…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zeke cleared his throat, trying to break up the gloomy atmosphere. “Hey, is Dad home yet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you know how late he works. What took so long?” The question was more directed towards Bucky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Community service hours. Zeke insisted on helping.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I was hoping we could give him our spare room, since it was my Z-band that turned him…” Zeke smiled, looping his arms around his mother's neck from behind. “Please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighed, rolling her eyes and pulling Zeke aside and whispering to him. “Another mouth to feed? Zeke, you know we can't take care of that many people!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> my fault this happened, and he doesn't have anywhere else to go, and you know that other zombies wouldn't be much better off than us anyways. He can get a job, and I could help him pay for things if he needs it, and—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright! Alright, I get it, I concede! But you have to promise me you'll give me some warning the next time you come home late!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm sorry, I will, I promise!” He kissed her on the cheek enthusiastically, taking Bucky by the hand and leading him to his room, laughing and calling over his shoulder. “I love you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The house was small compared to his old one in Seabrook, feeling cluttered due to the amount of stuff they had to cram into the limited space. The furniture was all either run down, recycled, or made from things that were never meant to be used as furniture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything was mismatched and tacky, but it was obvious they tried to position them in a way that looked halfway decent. It was like they tried to design a home with stuff they found in the dump, because that was all they had to work with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your room is right next to mine, just across the hall. We had this extra room as long as we could remember, with no real purpose for us other than storage since we don't get any guests. If you need anything I'll be right next to you, kay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He opened the door into what looked like a kid's room, maybe thirteen or fourteen by the looks of it. There were band and sports posters all over the walls, old photographs and toys from before the power plant incident. The room held a full-sized bed that was still made, an old desk covered in school papers, and dressers still full of clothes. All of it was covered in a thick layer of dust. There were a few things added to the room, marked by their distinctly less dusty surfaces; an old desk chair with one of the armrests broken off, a clunky old PC, and a couple stacks of boxes, labeled </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘clothes,’ ‘toys,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘other.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It might need a bit of cleaning, but…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whose room was this…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We don't know. When the first zombies got their Z-bands and needed places to live they just moved into the homes that were already there, left behind by the original infected. Whoever this kid was is probably one of our parents or something now. Not that we would never know…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zeke sighed, looking at one of the old photos sadly. “When you lose yourself for that long you kinda… forget who you are. When the first zombies got their bands they were nothing like they were before. They didn't know who they were anymore, so they moved on and became someone else. They went by new names, moved into new homes. They just did what was more convenient: they started over. The same would happen to one of us if we went a few years without our Z-bands.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky sat on the bed, looking at the device contemplatively. He knew it was there for a good reason, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> the damn thing. Yet hearing that made him much more grateful to have it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have more blankets and stuff if you want them, if those aren't enough.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I'll be alright for tonight, and hopefully I'll be able to get some of my stuff back tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Boys! Dinner!” Zeke's mother called from the kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zeke practically jumped into the hall, chatting excitedly as he led the way to the table. “My </span>
  <em>
    <span>má</span>
  </em>
  <span> makes the </span>
  <em>
    <span>best </span>
  </em>
  <span>spanish rice and cauliflower brains, you're gonna love it!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Set the table please!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Zeke groaned dramatically, turning away from his chair to pull plates out of the cupboard, pointing to a nearby drawer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Silverware's in there, can you grab a few forks, please?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky nodded, setting three mismatched forks as Zeke set the plates on the table. Zeke looked up at him with a smile as he sat down, legs curled up on his chair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We make a pretty good team.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I'd certainly hope so, since we have the cheer championships in a few weeks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean aside from cheerleading.” Zeke leaned forward as his mom set down the pan, diving for the spoon before it even hit the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm sorry about him, he's over-enthusiastic when it comes to food.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only your food! I don't care much for the stuff they serve at school. Too bland.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As I was saying—” she paused to glare playfully at her son, who apologized around a forkful of rice.”I'm Zeke's mother, Rozita, but you can call me Roza if you'd like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That's alright, I think I'll stick to Mrs. Florez for now.” Bucky smiled at her timidly, staring at the food in front of him, trying not to cringe. “So, does it actually taste like… brains?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn't know. We've never had real brains.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swallowed thickly, trying desperately not to imagine the alternative as he piled a bit of the meal on his plate. “Well I guess that's a good thing…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't worry, I work in a human restaurant, so I've picked up on a few things I've incorporated into my cooking. Just try it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes and bit into a forkful, pleasantly surprised and relieved that it just tasted like spanish rice and well-seasoned cauliflower. He sighed in relief.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank God it tastes like human food…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The other two chuckled, though it was obvious they were relieved he liked it as well. They continued their dinner in a calm silence for a while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I'm glad you like it.” Rozita smiled warmly at Bucky, and for a second he felt a pang of sadness. His mother had looked at him like that before… Was he homesick?</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>He didn't smile back, looking down at his plate instead. His mother loved him at one point, right? Before he was a zombie— before he was a cheerleader, his mother had smiled at him like that all the time. But then she got mad at him for liking cheer, and for being too 'girly,’</span> <span>didn't she? After that she only smiled at him when he earned it: when he won a competition, or when he did something for her— and even then it wasn't a </span><em><span>real</span></em><span> smile. It was fake and forced, like the rest of her affection. Like plastic, fake and brittle.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The conversation shifted to his home life: how his mother berated him for every little mistake, his father was never home, and how he'd been cast out, as if he was just a flaw in their perfect lives.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn't noticed he was crying until he was pulled away from the table, sobbing into Roza's arms. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when was the last time his mother hugged him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I—” he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop. How do you stop crying? When was the last time he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>cried</span>
  </em>
  <span>? “I can't stop it, I'm sorry. I don't know how to stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh, it's ok </span>
  <em>
    <span>z'giho</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you're ok. You lost your family, </span>
  <em>
    <span>za</span>
  </em>
  <span>? It's ok to cry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No it's— it's not! My mother would—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I'm not your mother, </span>
  <em>
    <span>z'giho</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It's not healthy to bottle your emotions like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But men aren't supposed to cry…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everyone needs to cry sometimes.” She rubbed his back soothingly, whispering sweet words to him until he stopped crying. “Finish your dinner, I'll get your room set up for you, ok?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded slowly, letting her pull away and dry his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won't leave you </span>
  <em>
    <span>z'giho</span>
  </em>
  <span>, no matter what. I promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He almost laughed at himself. Never in a million years did he think a zombie would treat him better than his own mother, yet there he was. How had his life gotten this fucked up in less than a week?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he turned back towards the table Zeke was looking at him sadly, and he looked back down at his plate, embarrassed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I don't know what came over me…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It's called emotion.” He smiled, reaching across the table to grab his hand. “Don't worry, it looks good on you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You're an ass.” Bucky sighed, turning back to his meal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only to people I like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky almost choked on his cauliflower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt like it was gonna be a long night…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bucky had been lying in his bed for hours and he hadn't been able to get a wink of sleep. At least at Tracey's house he was still in Seabrook, and in a place he'd been many times before, but here? Nothing was familiar.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfamiliar clothes, in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar home, in the middle of an unfamiliar town. He couldn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>possibly</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel less comfortable. And then there were the sounds…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Patrol cars driving around all night, shining their headlights in the windows and casting strange shadows as they passed, strange noises as the building around him settled and shifted in the wind, and then… the sound of Zeke's father walking into the house.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He groaned quietly, rolling out of the bed and walking to the kitchen. Might as well introduce himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walked quietly, clearing his throat to avoid startling the man; who was currently downing a cup of coffee like his life depended on it. After arriving home at this hour, Bucky really couldn't blame him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, my name is Bucky Buchanan… well, it's Sebastian, but everyone calls me Bucky. Zeke's letting me stay here 'cause I was kicked out. You must be his father.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He held his hand out as he spoke, the taller man staring at him dazedly before nodding in understanding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, Roza said we'd have a guest for a while. I didn't expect to meet you so soon.” He smiled, taking Bucky's hand in a firm, calloused grip. Bucky couldn't see very well in the darkness but he could tell the man had broad shoulders and a square jaw. “It's nice to meet you, Bucky: you can call me Ezra. I didn't wake you, did I?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I couldn't really sleep. Zombietown is really different from Seabrook…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You lived in Seabrook?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I uh… I was human until a couple days ago. Apparently a bite my grandfather got a long time ago gave me zombie genes, but it didn't affect me until I got shocked by Zeke's Z-band… Mom kicked me out for it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, then you must be the cheerleader Zeke's always talking about!” Ezra's face split in a dimly-lit smile. “And hey, since you're living here— we zombies call this town </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zikagnt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It means future or hope in our language.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh… I never knew that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, most people don't. Zombie education isn't exactly the nation's top priority. So, I'm guessing you don't want any coffee, since you didn't get any sleep, but would you like some tea or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No thanks, I'm fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? We've got caffeine free chamomile and honey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I don't wanna have to brush my teeth again and I should really get back to bed. I've got cheer lessons with Zoey in the morning and I don't wanna be </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> sleep deprived. It was nice meeting you though.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey wait!” Ezra quickly grabbed a glass and filled it with ice water, handing it to Bucky before he could head back to his room. “In case you get thirsty later.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Bucky smiled, taking the drink back to his room. As far as introductions go, it wasn't that bad. Maybe he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> overreacting earlier…</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>He certainly knew he would sleep better knowing he was welcome there. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> by them.</span>
</p>
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